Sitting in front of the TV yesterday after work was a little surreal because the cause of Michael Jackson’s death hit very close to home. I actually found myself crying when CNN broke the shocking news that he had died from cardiac arrest.
As the tears spilled down my cheeks, I felt really weird about crying since I didn’t have a personal connection to Michael Jackson other than being an admirer of his music. But after a few minutes I realized why his death was hitting me hard enough to provoke tears. My dad died the very same way back in 1998 when I was 28 years old. The memories of the day I got the call telling me my father had died buzzed around in my head as I listened to Wolf Blitzer on CNN.
I was prepared this morning while on our coffee break that the expected discussion about the death of Michael Jackson wasn’t going to be in my favor. My views definitely placed me in the minority rather than the majority because I never thought he was a child molester. Not even for one minute! I didn’t think he was a freak. I believe he was a great entertainer who loved children and built himself an amusement park to share with those less fortunate. He was, from my perspective, one of the most persecuted entertainers I’ve ever known. I’d easily rank him up there with OJ Simpson, but for him the sequined glove fit his one hand just fine, thank you very much.
I didn’t voice my opinion this morning over coffee, but rather I sat and listened to what my coworkers had to say about a man none of us ever really knew. But I didn’t pass judgement and think that their views were ignorant as they could easily of said the same about mine. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but I knew that no one wanted to hear mine so I kept my mouth shut.
Instead I sipped my hot cup of Starbucks coffee and took comfort in knowing this man has finally found peace.